


The Man Who Found His Wolf

by Roughnight



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega John, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:58:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roughnight/pseuds/Roughnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.</p><p>Sherlock found it painfully difficult to suppress the growl that threatened to erupt from his throat. He could’ve whined on the spot just to express his indecision.</p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Who Found His Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> For those who will come across this fic, I would just like to say that I've included this one as a part of a multi-chap fic. This is now a part of John's chapter, **[THE MAN WITH NO SCENT](http://archiveofourown.org/works/770749/chapters/1446432)** , instead pf being a stand alone Part of the series. Apologies**

 

He was torn between feeling unreservedly elated and being sorely disappointed. The omega ex-army doctor, for that was what the wolf unmistakably was, smelled so frustratingly human _still_. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. There wasn’t even the faintest trace, even the most subtle whiff, which would suggest that the man sprawled on the ground in front of him was a _wolf_. Clearly, judging the man from his scent alone could’ve produced the gravest error. The man’s smell sorely contradicts Sherlock’s unshakable observations of the latter’s identity. His nose could’ve fooled him had he singly relied on it like the rest of the world would. Crumbled in front of him, as still and as unflinching as a rod, was a picture of an ordinary human man incapable of responding to the moon’s call to grow some fangs and claws. Sherlock took another stretched sniff, this time intimately closer, dragging his nose along the length of the neck until the tip of his nose almost touched the crook where the omega’s neck and shoulder meets. _Nothing_. There was the distinct tang of the man’s skin but while it was agreeably unique and while it could very well serve as one of his distinctive aspects that would separate him from the rest, it was still so unbelievably and most frustratingly _human_. Whatever chemical this omega had taken, it was wholly potent—that or the man has been taking the drug for a hideously extended time enough for his own body to forget what it truly is. Sherlock took another lungful of the man’s scent, greedy for an influx of information./ _Smoke. Sweat. Dirt. Blood. Rainforest. Earth. Oil. Tea./_ **Interesting.** It was almost funny how the aroma of tea seemed to stubbornly cling onto the man’s skin. Sherlock scowled. He really was at the precipice that held the bar between displeasure and joy. For one, a wolf ought to possess his scent for it was, in a way, a ground that held them separately from humans. It was wrong for one to wear blunted teeth when it was fangs he was truly gifted with. But then, that the wolf was successfully shedding his skin and pretending to be a harmless little lamb was ingenious in its uniqueness. Sherlock found it painfully difficult to suppress the growl that threatened to erupt from his throat. He could’ve whined on the spot just to express his indecision.

 

Biology, it appears, could still prove to be an adversary to one’s self. The other man’s breathing had become so shallow, so controlled, so labored that is was evident how the omega was fighting off an impulse. He has grown stiff when Sherlock crossed the imaginary boundary of personal space—whoever invented that for it was dull and pointless—and took a whiff. While the omega was obviously holding his breath being this close to an alpha, Sherlock noticed how the man’s breath hitched when he took a whiff. It was necessary for his data collection after all and if he pretended not to when, in fact, he noticed how the doctor responded by secretly sniffing back Sherlock’s smell in short, stunted inhales, then it would just serve as yet another proof to his deduction. The man in front of him was without doubt, a _wolf_. The omega’s shoulders were tensed and his limbs were rigidly steady even as his right hand held the wound on his flank. The dominant hand, however, was still clutching at his unloaded tranquilizer gun, uselessly curled at the trigger. Sherlock reckoned that if he was to press an ear to the other wolf’s chest, the heartbeat he’d hear would be galloping like a frantic horse. And wasn’t the omega just a treat, holding his ground as an alpha proceeded with unwanted and unsolicited ministrations? His face controllably blank, Sherlock finally withdrew enough to look the runaway omega in the face.

 

“Two crime rings in one day. Have you a penchant for trouble, _doctor_?” he drawled, “or do you simply find delight in interloping with wolves’ business?”

 

The omega kept his jaws clenched, his arms deceptively at his side even when they were truthfully poised to strike. Refusing to speak, he merely leveled a wary gaze at Sherlock, measuring him up, sneakily calculating the distance between them and the arrays of alleys that served as temptation for an escape. It was a captivating sight, the omega’s steel gaze. Covered in filth, slumped on the ground, wounded and bleeding, and alone with a self-possessed alpha in front of him, the ex-army doctor was a portrait of a man cornered; his hackles were raised, his whole person overwrought,  yet somehow he was steady, and deprived of _fear_. He was a wolf alright and one nobody should mistake to a domesticated canine or worse, a human. Belatedly acknowledging the information that could prove vital at the moment, Sherlock flicked his gaze down at the man’s leaking wound. The blood continued to ooze in what would seem to be of significant amount, his shirt terribly soaked by now. It had to be excruciatingly painful if the man’s profuse sweating was any indication. The edges of his eyes were wrinkled in an effort to fend off the winces that rightfully deserved the place. He ought to be severely close to fainting from the pain and loss of blood.

 

Sherlock unwounded the midnight blue scarf wrapped around his neck and without preamble pressed the thick cloth against the omega’s hand that was futilely covering the bullet graze. The omega gave a subtle shift even as his eyes searchingly looked at the alpha’s silver ones. Sherlock didn’t know what the other man may have seen in them but he reckoned it was enough as the omega slowly lifted his fingers to hold the cloth on his own and pressed it heavily on his wound.

 

“The police are on their way.” Sherlock said, his eyes trained at the sight of his own scarf in the omega’s hand. “They are unreliable but they would bring an ambulance with them which you evidently need at the moment.”

 

There was the briefest flicker on the omega’s face which could only be of panic but the other man has quickly schooled his face. _Of course_. The mention of any formal authority, especially the police, could at this point only be deemed as threat and unwanted attention. Sherlock wrinkled his nose. Didn’t this man hear Sherlock say the police were unreliable? The mention of ambulance probably caused the omega to be flooded of cascading thoughts concerning blood works and other investigations that could expose him for what he truly was; he was a doctor after all. It was to be noted how the other wolf was unbelievably expressive that even without saying anything, Sherlock was hearing answers to his statements.

 

“The children,” the omega rasped, his voice dry but coated with concern, “do you know anything of the children?” Then as if a thought had just suddenly occurred to him, “Are you—?”

 

“I’m _a Consulting Detective_ as I’ve told you already.” Sherlock sniped. “I’m not with those brutes.” He supplied disdainfully.

 

“Oh.”

 

“And the children are safe. They escaped when the alpha ran after you. I know where they are of course and they will be directed to Lestrade’s attention to be on the safer side.”

 

The omega frowned at this and tilted his head. Ah, finally, a reaction. It was satisfying even when Sherlock himself hadn’t expected the omega’s first query to be about the younglings. The omega girl would be registered to a government social center as she has the right to it and Raz would receive help as he would be inevitably become part of Sherlock’s homeless network. He let the silence roll as he waited patiently for the omega to hold his bearing. This wolf’s caretaker tendency was ingrained so heavily in him that we wore it like a skin.

 

“Lestrade?” The doctor finally asked.

 

“Just someone from the MET,” Sherlock explained. “He’s a Detective Inspector but he’s the most tolerable among the lot.”

 

“That’s fine, then.” The omega said, relieved.

 

Sherlock gave a non-committal noise.

 

The silence was pierced like a knife on a fabric as the sirens of the police cars hollered, the echoes growing louder as they hear the rubbers crunch the gravels beneath them.

 

“Let me go.”

 

It was said softly, carefully, that Sherlock was for a beat puzzled if that has been the result of the other wolf’s weakened state brought by blood loss or merely a fruit handed by uncertainty. Then the doctor lifted his chin and with bright piercing blue eyes held the Consulting Detective’s attention.

 

“Let me get away,” he repeated resolutely, “I promise not cause trouble.”

 

Sherlock’s lips were quick to twitch at this even before his mind could process a response, unintentionally neglecting the gravity under which the other wolf was making his case. The omega gave him a puzzled look even as Sherlock’s lips bloomed to a full, awkward grin. “I daresay you’ve gotten yourself involved in a lot of troubles already, _doctor_.” He clarified.

 

The omega cringed, then stilled; he looked defensive before somewhat acquiescent; he reddened in indignation before his eyes relaxed in its blueness filled with mirth; he looked about to argue but it was transformed midway before a word could pass between his lips and what came out as a result then after was a short, choking cough. It was beautiful.

 

“That wasn’t how I meant it.” He said in forcefully schooled neutrality. He licked his lower lip before digging his teeth at its corner, fighting off an equal traitorous grin.

 

“I know,” Sherlock said lightly, his eyebrows curving in a relaxed arc. “But that doesn’t make it untrue.”

 

“So, will you?” the omega asked hopefully, “let me free?”

 

“No.” Sherlock said. “You are hardly my captive for me to free.”

 

“Let me walk away, then?”

 

“No.” Sherlock tilted his head to his side. The omega’s jaw shut tightly before glaring at him.

 

Sherlock glanced pointedly at the omega’s wound before rising to his feet. Footsteps came in a jog just as soon as the Consulting Detective straightened to his full height. The presence of another wolf became palpable as the air was drenched with another scent. Sherlock whipped around, clamping his hands behind his back and faced the form of a man in suit and bullet proof vest, gun held with both hands.

 

“Lestrade.” Sherlock acknowledged crisply.

 

“Sherlock. What on earth have you gotten yourself into?” Lestrade muttered, scrunching his face as he stared down at the unconscious body of the alpha smuggler. “And pray tell who that man is?” He asked when he finally regarded John’s presence.

 

“A smuggling ring your department failed to disassemble, clearly. This is _Doctor John Watson_ , the man who subdued your smugglers. Should you be asking questions instead of calling the medics when the man here who has done the world a favor is bleeding himself to unconsciousness?” Sherlock rattled in rapid succession.

 

There was a sharp intake of breath behind him the soonest that the omega’s true name rolled off his tongue. Sherlock wished he’d have seen the man’s expression. He imagined he could hear the rapid rush of blood and the beat of a quivering heart from the doctor behind him.

 

Lestrade, on the other hand, looked dubiously from the man in question then to Sherlock then back to the other man again. He was unambiguously taking in the omega’s mud covered, tattered, filthy apparel as well as the tranquilizer gun on the omega’s hand. The ex-army doctor’s hair was matted with days worth of dirt, his face unshaven. He was a classic example of a man bedraggled and homeless. They technically _were_ in the Homeless neighborhood. Lestrade’s eyes swerved back down at the tranquilizer gun on the omega’s hands before darting to the thug’s unconscious form.

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _“Oh for the love of god!”_ He snapped. He shoved a gloved hand in the pocket of his cloak and retrieved the tranquilizer dart the omega had planted on him earlier, and then waved it in the air in front of him. “Obviously the gun belongs to _me_. Registered I might add,- ask _Mycroft_ ,” he muttered his brother’s name with dripping revulsion. It was the perfect excuse, the most effective smokescreen loathed he may be to use it. “John here’s a colleague of mine— _my flat mate_ , actually. Now why don’t you get your medics here so they could do their job?”

 

There was a thrill that run up his spine when he called the omega by his name. It was a name so boringly common but he reckoned it felt right on the muscle which was his tongue. It slurred sweetly with every letter. It felt even more right when his mind has seemingly spontaneously decided to invite the omega to be his flat mate—which the latter would inescapably _be_ since Sherlock was determined to get his way. He really was proud of his intelligence. Who was he not to trust the genius that was his mind? The surprise when he realized how he was thrilled at the prospect was gripping in its intensity. He looked forward to it, almost hungered for it. The omega, after all, wasn’t completely unraveled yet. His puzzle still dangling a profound attraction.

 

Lestrade was just as startled if his widened eyes and open mouth was anything to judge by; but he was a police on duty bound to be responsible by his work and he was a beta rained with demands by an alpha. Sherlock most definitely took advantage of his alpha influence where he could find loopholes to use it. With a resigned sigh, Lestrade turned his back and called out loud, his free hand already dialing a number on his mobile.

 

Sherlock hastily shut Lestrade’s useless hollers off, whipped to face the omega suffering from apnea, crouched down, and reached with both hands and grabbed the other man’s shoulders firmly. He leaned forward so that they’re faces were merely inches apart.

 

“Would you trust me on this?” He said seriously under his breath, his voice deep and imploring. The hunt wasn’t over yet, the mysteries unresolved.

 

The omega took a sluggish inhale and searched for something in his eyes yet again, then at his face, blue eyes flicking at the edges and curves of Sherlock’s feature. His skin has become significantly pale and the pain was now extremely evident, his blue orbs glazed even as the corners of his eyes were cringing and grimacing. He was holding himself torturously well even when the bundle of nerves and muscles in his limbs were strained and very near to burning.

 

“John, trust me.” Sherlock said under his breath. He had plans. They would work. While Lestrade may be preoccupied with other things at the moment, the man could unreliably have his spotlights and exhibit chances of attentiveness just when Sherlock prayed for otherwise.

 

The omega held his breath this time, his eyes unwaveringly holding Sherlock’s.

 

“They won’t get to you.” Sherlock hissed, figuring the demons that were plaguing the omega’s mind. The other man, in his near to fainting condition, was also struggling for the threads of clarity and consciousness. Sherlock could see it as clear as crystal he’d bet anyone would too. The omega’s breathing was erratic; his pulse was feeble when the Consulting Detective dropped an arm and brushed his fingers on the doctor’s wrist before pressing his palm over the back of the latter’s clammy hands firmly to exert more pressure over the bleeding wound.

 

John Watson winced when Sherlock pressed tighter and Sherlock, in turn, watched as the omega finally decided to surrender in his battle against the excruciating pain and blood loss.

 

“Promise me.”

 

Sherlock wondered what worth a single word would hold, wondered what it was the omega seemed to search on his face every time a decision was asked of him.

 

_/”Astounding.”/ John Watson had said in a rushed breath._

 

Clicking his teeth together, he merely allowed himself a brief nod. It was some sort of beacon very much awaited, for he hasn’t even completely raised his face from the nod when the other man’s eyes flickered one more time before completely shutting close. His body sagged and fell forward in a flaccid heap, the infirmity lording over sheer force of will. Sherlock, trapped in his position, allowed the ex-army doctor’s face to land on his shoulder. It was the logical thing to do after all, what with his left hand occupied in its mission to hold the pressure over the leaking flesh for the the unconscious omega.

 

He heard Lestrade stepping closer behind him.

 

“Is he—”

 

“I got him.” Sherlock said without turning to look, his voice rumbling from his chest. “Just get your medics.”

 

_/”Astounding.”/_

 

An inhale.

 

“I got him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any mistake. Kind of hurriedly posted this one when I realized how I was behind my intended schedule for a lot of things. Thank you all for your gracious comments and suggestions. I am in love with all of you in the Fandom just as much as I'm in love with the Shipping.^^


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